


Red Hills Down

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Ballad, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a Rythna ballad written at 3 in the morning; enough said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Hills Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BewilderedSjipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewilderedSjipper/gifts).



There once was a young man from a troubled past;  
Famed tales there were told of how he had cast  
Strange words from old tomes of faraway,  
Which glistened and glittered in the light of day.  
How foreign was he, and his name was, too!  
Rythian it was, but that's not important to you.  
He travelled the free lands for a final peace  
Until a fair-haired lad made him stumble, then cease,  
For, where the winterwheat grows next to the little old town,  
Not one man leaves the old red hills down.

Lalna was he, a poor alchemist by trade,  
Who lived quite alone in his solitary glade.  
A recent town arrival, from only a few years back,  
Parelleling the same course as new Rythian's track.  
To the market he went, with care searching each stall  
As Rythian ventured close, so close on this terrestrial ball,  
For, where the winterwheat grows next to the little old town,  
Not one man leaves the old red hills down.

Ten feet, then five, then even smaller still,  
Them answering only to fickle Fortune's will.  
Colliding, at last, finally coming face to face;  
How strange to find each other in so queer a place!  
Smitten were they, struck by love at first sight.  
To such a beautiful man they could put up no fight,  
For, where the winterwheat grows next to the little old town,  
Not one man leaves the old red hills down.

Questions abounding, names soaring through air,  
"Rythian," "Lalna," then two investigative stares  
Piercing their skin, and then out to beyond,  
For who was this soul who had his heart conned?  
'I shall not love,' thought Rythian, 'this love is just a trick,'  
'How could I love,' thought Lalna, 'this self-inflated prick?'  
For, where the winterwheat grows next to the little old town,  
Not one man leaves the old red hills down.

'Such feelings are folly, a snare for the weak!'  
'If only this man could learn how to be meek,'  
'I am not to be charmed by this ridiculous fool,'  
'There is no loving such a man, this arrogant tool!'  
But as their hours and days together soon multiplied,  
Both had come to realize how they had so lied.  
For, where the winterwheat grows next to the little old town,  
Not one man leaves the old red hills down.

And so those two men, as thick as thieves,  
Were stuck together and would never leave.  
Spits and spats by day, moans and cries by night  
Of those two loving men of who we sing and write  
Filled the water and earth and sky above  
With their strange and loud and mismatched love.  
For, where the winterwheat grows next to the little old town,  
Not one man leaves the old red hills down.


End file.
